DUDE, SERIOUSLY? SEX DOLLS?
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: A little missing scene from "Time is on My Side". Written for sUnKiSsT, who thought a missing scene with the sex dolls would be funny. I hope this lives up to your expectations. Reviews, as always, are much appreciated. Rated K for a bit of swearing.


A little missing scene for "Time Is On My Side".

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Disclaimer: Don't own a darn thing related to Supernatural. Certainly wish I did. :-) 'Cause I'd be the luckiest woman in the world.

**Dude, Seriously? Sex Dolls?**

By: Vanessa Sgroi

Dean hurried through the blotchy, peeling motel room door, a discreet brown paper bag gripped tightly in one hand. Reaching in the bag while he banged the door closed with his foot, the older Winchester pulled out a smallish box.

"Catch!" He tossed it in his brother's direction and then reached back in the bag to pull out his own identical box.

Sam looked up from the computer screen just in time to react and catch the brightly-colored missile zinging for his head. He stared at the store's name, Passion's Play, in puzzlement, his fingers automatically working the box top open. His eyes widened, and he felt a warm flush sting his cheeks. He'd wondered about Dean self-proclaimed secret mission was all about; now he knew.

"Sex dolls, Dean? What the hell? You wanna have some perverted bi-bro orgy or something?"

Dean's eyebrows skyrocketed to his hairline. "Bi-bro orgy? Dude, that's just . . . just . . ." He shook his head as if to clear it of the image. "Look, just shut up and blow—I mean inflate. Inflate." He sank down onto the edge of his bed, opening the top of his box.

"C'mon, Dean, what's going on?" Sam pulled the mass of creased vinyl from the box, wrinkling his nose at the strong petroleum odor wafting from the object.

"They're decoys."

"Decoys? For what? I mean, I know that night manager down at the desk is a little on the creepy side but . . ."

Dean pulled his inflatable doll from the box and smoothed it out on the bed, searching for the little clear-plastic nodule in which to blow.

"You're right, scrawny little runt is way creepy. Kept watching your ass as you walked, dude. Looked like he wanted to go all Grabby McFeely. But no, these . . . these are a decoy for Bela."

"Bela? You think she's coming here? Why? I mean, why would she come here? It's not like we have anything else she can steal. And why would we need decoys?"

"God, Sam, you sound just like you did when you were five. Questions, questions, and more questions."

"I just wanna know what's going on, Dean. That's all."

"All right. Fine. I don't _think_ she's coming here, I _know_ she is. I saw some things, you know, when I found her. There's something goin' on with her, Sam. Something big—like her own crossroads deal. And I think somehow we're a major part of it."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. Now, c'mon, put your mouth to use for something other than yapping. I don't think we have a lot of time." The hairs on the back of Dean's neck weren't just standing up; they were standing at attention and saluting a flag of disquiet.

The brothers both turned their attention to inflating the dolls. After a minute or two, Dean stopped and sucked in a deep breath before mumbling a disgruntled, "Man, what the hell are these things made of—concrete?" He glanced down at the doll that was just barely beginning to take shape and then over at his younger sibling.

"Here, Sam, switch with me." He thrust the floppy tangle of vinyl arms and legs toward his brother.

Lifting his mouth from the little plastic extrusion, Sam grunted, a tad breathless, "What? Why?"

" 'Cause this one has a little beauty mark on its face in the same place you do."

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes. "I do not have a beauty mark," he grumbled. Curious, Sam peered at the lumpy, leering vinyl face and indeed saw a small brown speck—a defect—in the material. Damn if it didn't look like a tiny mole on the doll's cheek.

Dean shook the object in his hand. "Whatever. Just switch with me. Now that I saw it, I'm uncomfortable with thinking 'Sammy' and 'blow' in the same sentence."

Despite their physical fitness, it took quite a few minutes for the brothers to completely inflate the dolls. By the time they were finished, their lungs ached from the workout.

Licking his dry lips, Dean grimaced at the lingering rubbery taste, much like after blowing up balloons. He grabbed the doll out of Sam's hands. Grinning, Dean gave in to a flash of silliness and held Sam's up in his left hand and his in his right and wiggled them like they were dancing. "Hey Sam, look—twins." He wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

Sam couldn't contain a small dimpled grin of his own at the look on his brother's face. "Dude, you are one sick, sick individual."

"That's what makes me special, geek boy."

"Is that what they call it now? Special?"

With a snort, Dean tossed one of the dolls at Sam. "Put this in your bed. Under the covers. Try and make it look like it's your gargantuan body laying there sleeping."

The brothers quickly arranged the dolls on their respective beds and pulled the sheets and blankets up to completely cover them. Once the two mounds were reasonably acceptable in shape, Dean looked at the clock, turned to Sam, and said urgently, "Let's grab our shit and get out of here. Now!"

The Impala was only two blocks away, the Winchester brothers tucked safely inside, surrounded by the familiar and welcome rumble of the engine, when Bela Talbot picked the lock on their motel room door and entered stealthily, gun fully equipped with a silencer firmly in hand.

Waiting until another gritty night-cloaked city block or two flew swiftly by under the hum of the Goodyear tires, Dean finally reached for his cell phone and grimly dialed the cold-blooded mercenary's number.

"_Hiya Bela, here's some fun facts you may not know, I felt your hand in my pocket when you swiped that motel receipt."_

_**FINI**_


End file.
